October 1918

An old friend of Matthew's, Private Lenny Hawkins, (Matthew had called "Yank" affectionately, once upon a time, along with the other members of his regiment) had come to visit Downton, attending dinner with them. Arriving unannounced and so sudden, they had to make a place for him, and they were willing to accommodate any friend of Matthew's.

"I can't believe we haven't met any of your friends till now." Cora said.

"You haven't met any of them because most of them are dead."

There was a pin drop of silence for a moment.

"Now, Crawley here is being far too modest with himself. He saved as many as he could. He saved me! A hero just as much as his dear batman was. Captain Crawley." He raised his glass, as did everyone else, chiming in, Captain Crawley, except for Robert who said,

"To Matthew."

While Mary remained silent, curiously glancing at Matthew. He appeared still and uncomfortable. Maybe he'd been sitting too long? She was about to speak, to suggest maybe he go rest, but Hawkins continued.

"Well, he was left tenant then. Rather than letting the Jerries take me prisoner, he takes them down in two shots! One of them wasn't even wearing a helmet...it must have come off in the scuffle. Caught them by surprise. I'd say I was more surprised. I wouldn't have imagined someone like Crawley to have it in him."

"Excuse me. I'm not feeling rather well." Matthew was already making his withdraw from the table. Robert was actually apologizing to Hawkins.

"Sorry about that...though I don't think it appropriate to discuss such things in front of women, especially my cousin. He's been through a great deal."

"No. Of course."

He could hear Hawkins's voice drifting after him. It made Matthew sick to his stomach, hearing his family holding this man in high regards when he knew the truth.

They didn't know the truth. He realized. They didn't know him because he didn't tell them. They were only treating him this way because he was 'his friend' There was nothing heroic in saving Hawkins's life.

He could almost smell the smoke and blood, left behind where he had shot a perfect hole through the German's skull. He should have let the German's take Hawkins prisoner. He instantly regretted the thought, as he tried to shake away the scenario replaying in his head.

He had to get to somewhere private, he could feel the anxiety gripping him like cold icy fingers. Feeling he was not going to make it to his rooms, he slipped into the linen closet, blissfully big enough to maneuver his chair in and out. He gripped the shelf, breathing deeply in and out, willing himself to calm down. A flood of tears suddenly steamed down his face, his body shaking. As soon as they had come, they suddenly stopped. He had nearly recovered himself when the door squeaked open. He nearly jumped about an inch in his chair.

O'Brien was standing in the doorway, her hands full of linens. Why else would she need to be in here? Unless she had heard him? Her eyes were wide for a moment, as if looking at a ghost. Then the dark brown pools seemed to smooth out.

"My brother had it." She spoke with a voice that sounded foreign. "The shell shock. He was my favorite brother in fact...my only brother. I was his favorite sister. If there's anything Mr. Crawley..."

Miss Hughes cleared her throat, standing behind O'Brien, in the hallway.

"Never mind for now. O'Brien. Thank you." He quickly recovered to cover for her. There isn't anything. He wheeled out past them as they made room for him.

"I was asking Mr. Crawley if he needed anything. He seemed a bit exhausted you see..."

"And that is Bates's job, not yours. He would ask if he needed..."

"...I doubt you have an experience in such matters." He heard their voices drift off in the distance.

Mary had gone to check on him, and annoyingly so, Hawkins wanted to as well. She couldn't shake him, deciding it was the best way for him to apologize. The usually all forgiving and charming Matthew, wouldn't accept it.

"What is he doing in here? I want him to leave."

"He came to apologize." Mary began.

"I know I was out of line." Hawkins started, "I shouldn't have brought it up at dinner like that, Ol' chap." He added in a mock English accent. This only infuriated Matthew even more.

"You're lucky I don't have the authorities come and throw you out. No one else would show you such mercy I am giving you now."

"Matthew, I'm sure he's..."

"He is a liar and fraud, that's what he is. He's taken credit for what other men have done, brave men, worth more than a thousand of you." He directed at Hawkins. "I want you gone. Get out!"

"Fair enough. I've already overstayed my welcome."

Mary turned to him after Hawkins shut the door behind him. The air about her seemed to say, would you like to tell me what that was about? When she turns to face him, he has a peculiar expression, staring off into space.

"I see their faces."

"Who's faces?"

He bent his head down and rubbed his forehead and eyes, before lifting it back up, leaning back in his chair. "It is not fair. It's not fair that men like him survived, when so many good men died."

"You don't mean that." Seeing Hawkins had brought up a lot of bad memories, that's why he's angry, the incident Hawkins recalled at dinner. He must be talking about that.

He gave her what she took as a warning glance. "Would you ring Bates for me? I would like to go to bed." He started to wheel towards it as if to make a point.

She nodded, even stayed as Bates transferred him from his chair, observing closely. She might have to do this one day. He hardly seemed to notice that she was there. Months ago he would have been embarrassed to have an audience.

And when she lied beside him he didn't protest that it was inappropriate, even as she ran her fingers through his hair.

He closed his eyes, focusing on her touch, the thought of the war and William, and the other ghosts that haunted him, receded from his mind. He began to wonder what the future held for them. If there was a way for them to be together, like this, always. Would there ever be any peace?

Later that night the whole estate had lost power. He and Mary had been sitting up by the fire. He wheeled over to where the candles were.

The bunker was plunged into darkness. The light of the candle had flickered out. "Damn. Light a candle, Crawley. Can't see a bloody thing." His second Lieutenant cursed. The table shook. Clarke had run into it or it was from the vibrations from the continuous shelling.

As Matthew grabbed the candle, he tried not to think of the cold waxy hand that had been attached to an arm but nothing else, a Saint Christopher's medal in it's curled fist. The owner's prayer had been answered. He couldn't say the same for himself as the dirt rained down on the roof of the bunker. With the layers of dirt and vibrations it would be any moment that it could collapse. Shuddering, he forced the memory back into the black depths.

He was here. That was then. That was now. The hand is gone. He's gone. The person he had been was dead and buried with it.

He was buried under rubble. This would be his grave. He could feel the vibrations of the ground beneath him as the shells exploded. He couldn't quite hear them. He thought he had gone deaf but he was just concussed.

He lay there for what seemed like hours before he was found.

He awoke in the dark, almost having pitched himself off the bed, well half his torso. He was not in his cot in the bunker. It had all been a dream, though he could still hear the screaming around him. He thought it must be him.

It was some time before he realized that he was home, at Downton, that he hadn't screamed, for no one came pounding on the door to see if he was alright. And yet the cries were still so vivid, so real in his mind, rang in his ears for several minutes.

And Mary was gone, he could steal feel her warmth beside him. She must have gone back to her own bed.

He sat up and rang the bell, pulling the pull cord beside his bed. He hadn't been asleep for long, he soon discovered. It was nearing nine-thirty. Wanting to sit up for a bit, he asked Bates to get him up and into his chair, telling him to come back in about a half hour. He had a bit of writing to do.

Mary knocked on the door. She was let in by Bates, who discreetly nodded to her as he exited the room. He wouldn't ask questions or say anything to anyone about their secret meetings. Mary still stood by the door frame, giving him a moment in case he wasn't decent yet.

"I was off trying to find the toilet." She explained. "Sorry if I woke you when I left..."

"You didn't."

"Are you decent?"

"Yes."

When she peered round the door and looked up, she saw that he was at his desk, hovering over what she thought could only be 'lawyer business.'

"I was hoping you wouldn't mind if I stayed, since you're already up."

"No. Not at all." He half turned, happy that she was here. "Coming to check on me twice in one night. What will the others think we're up to?" He teased.

"Let them think all they want. We're engaged. We're as good as married."

"Besides they don't have to worry about me doing anything alone with you."

She said nothing, choosing not to reply to his statement. "The power should be back by morning." She paused for a moment, not sure what to say next. She had to think of something, not wanting to lapse into this dreaded silence again. What was he still doing up? Couldn't he sleep? Perhaps the power outage had reminded him of being alone, in a dark bunker with nothing but candle light. The thought of him writing his many letters to her that way warmed her heart. "Did you get any amount sleep?"

"No. About the same."

"You had a nightmare." She stated.

"Only once or twice. Not really bad ones." It was a lie. A lie she didn't notice. He had to constantly lie. Pretending to be someone else was a form of lying wasn't it? It was sometimes exhausting. That is why he put off the engagement further. He needed more time to 'recover' He no longer refused her. It no longer worked. She would eventually have to see that he was unfit to be a husband, not just physically but mentally and emotionally.

This is what they're made into, what the survivors are left with were lies. They were made into liars.

"You never told me what it is you did, in the war. All those secret missions with the Colonel. If there are confidences that you can't break, I'll understand." She would avoid the graphic parts of the war, that seemed to trigger this nervousness in him. But perhaps if he could open up about this, he could start to heal. It would be a start.

He stares straight ahead. She can tell faintly from the candlelight. She thought he was going off somewhere but he was just deep in thought.

"It's not confidences, not exactly. More how you would think of me, what you would think, how you might react."

"You can say anything to me. I won't be shocked."

"You might be." He smiled but he had a bit of uncertainty in his voice. "I know you won't. I don't know why I was ever friends with him." He suddenly blurted out, referring to Hawkins. "I guess the war hides who people are." His voice sounded a bit distant. "The men I was friends with weren't really, at least we wouldn't have been outside the war, apart from Patrick."

"I can't quite picture that."

"Did you have friends growing up or did you drift apart?"

"I was too mean and self absorbed."

"I can quite picture that." She pulled a scowl. "That was my first impression when I first met you. How incredibly wrong I was." His grin was hiding a laugh.

She smiled, having to look away as she felt the flush of warmth rush to her cheeks. "What about you?" She shrugged her shoulders. Clasping her hands together she placed them in her lap. "I'm sure you had all sorts of friends."

"I was bullied." She looked at him, unbelieving. "When I was away at boarding school." He had barley talked to anyone, just always lurking in the background, looking for trouble that he knew he'd get away with. It had been an all boys school which had made his encounters with girls awkward later on. He felt his relationship he used to have with his mother had contributed to it. He didn't regret his parents sending away. They wanted him to have the best education but at times he had felt lonely. He had gotten used to being alone. The only thing he regretted was not spending more time with his parents when he was home, especially with his father. It must have been hard, sending their only child away. No where near sending your only child to war. "They called me creepy Crawley."

"They didn't! How ghastly of them. If I were to come across any of them..."

"It doesn't matter now. Most of them are probably dead." Died in the war, or were still dying. He imagined that Lenny Hawkins would have been one such bully. War covers up who you were or who you are. There was an arrogance and pleasure that he had failed to see. He had discovered that Lenny was taking credit for what other men, greater men worth a thousand of him had done. No one else knew the truth. He wasn't even going to confront Hawkins about his discovery. And then Hawkins had the nerve, painted him as a hero, for taking human life.

Hawkins had brought with him a reminder of the darkness of Matthew's past, a dark part of himself he'd rather forget.

Monsters are real. They look just like you and me. Sometimes you are the monster. What had possessed him to save a person like Lenny Hawkins, a person like that was allowed to survive when so many honorable men, worth a thousand of him had died? If he were to decide now, who lived or died, Matthew thought, he'd be more of a monster than he already was. It was different in war.

"I should have known it was him that made you uncomfortable."

"Don't be sorry. He fooled everyone. He even fooled me. It doesn't matter now." He repeated. "I need to change position." The glazed look in his eyes was replaced by urgency. "Do you mind?" He meant for her to turn around. They were back to this now? He had let her see Bates get him into bed. What was he to be embarrassed about?

"You should let me help you."

"I rather gotten the hang of it. I just don't want you to see in case my nightgown slips."

"Now, don't tempt me." She smiled, (did she catch one forming at the corner of his lips, in the flickering candle light) as she turned her back to him, waited for the rustling to stop. Seeing that his eyes were closed, she grabbed a book and sat down. She planned to slip out once she made sure he'd be alright.

She must have fallen asleep in the chair beside the fire, for she nearly jumped out of her skin when he was jarred awake so suddenly. But he hadn't been aware of her presence at first. Slowly he came around, not asking what she was still doing here. He seemed to take comfort in it and that the lights had come back on. She helped him sit up and grabbed him a glass of water, only for him to gesture it away with his hand.

He told her that he had dreamed that he was trapped. He often dreamt that he was. "I always feel like that."

She assumed that he wasn't just talking about the dream. Being here must be unbearable, not being able to help your friends while they were still fighting, risking their lives. And yet, she assumed he hadn't meant that either. It was a life he had lived for three years and had grown accustomed to. She did not ask about it. She let him talk.

"I lost my senses for a while there. I suppose I was concussed." He pulled a slight frown.

"I can't imagine how terrible it must have been." He didn't have to talk about it if he didn't want to but he continued.

"The whole time I thought the Germans were coming to get me, that I revealed my position, and that was going to be my end. Turned out it was only William. He saved me twice that day." He smiled at the memory of the young lad. "Did I ever tell you that?"

"No. You didn't. And for that I'll forever be grateful." She grabbed his hand and this time he didn't flinch away. "For him saving you."

"As will I." He fell quiet then, his brow knitted together. "They're saying the war could go on for another year."

She detects the fear he tries to mask in his voice, feels that he's pulling away from her again, that she's losing him. It was as if he was stuck in another world different than her own, the one that they had once been a part of was just beyond reach, a piece of driftwood, drifting out to an endless sea, a rift between them. She needed to bridge that gap.

They can't send me back...I don't want to go back.

He'd be dead for sure this time. He wants to stay here in her arms, where he's safe. He wouldn't go back. Then they'd shoot him for being a coward. He couldn't do that to her. Maybe they could marry, at least he'd leave her a part of him, if he was able to...oh god, Mary...I'm so sorry.

"I can't go back."

"They won't sent you back."

"If I get better enough. They will..."

She closed her eyes. Darling, you won't get better. You know that. You know what the doctor said. She wants to say it but can't; she can't force him to relive it.

He must think he's still dreaming. Lord knows he probably hasn't slept for days.

"You've done your service."

"I know. It's just that I... I've heard...stories..."

"Shh. Let's not talk about that now." She interrupted, to send out a lifeline, put the war a far distance behind them or it will be a place he'd never leave. "We needn't talk about it again. You're tired. You need to rest."

He looks at her if he is unsure if he's not certain she's really there, his eyes a vast sea of darkness, there's nothing there. They're dead inside. Then life suddenly starts to creep back into them.

He squeezes her hand in agreement.

December 1918

She found him in the Great Hall, listening to a record. He was sitting in his chair, watching it go round on the gramophone.

"I wish I could have taken you dancing." He said as she sensed her presence.

"We can still dance in our minds." They were met by awkward silence. "Who is this then?" She asked.

"I don't know. It was something Edith bought. I think it was in a show that flopped."

"We were a show that flopped once."

"Oh Mary, I'm so sorry." He took her hand, but she tried to pull away. "I'm still in love with you Mary. I always have."

He let her pull him to her. Bending her face down to his, they kissed. Then it was back, the tingling sensation he had felt during the armistice. An overwhelming feeling came over him.

And suddenly before they knew it, he was on his feet.

"Matthew...How...!"

He grabbed onto her hands for support, trying to balance his weight, they felt weightless, yet...He held her close, feeling the warmth of her, he had so desperately wanted. "Let's just enjoy this moment."

So, this was why he had thought they might send him back, she had thought that maybe he had been losing his mind. All that talk about seeing faces, had to be the guilt he felt. She could see the guilt melt away from him. In the moment it didn't exist. He was his old self again. Yes, let's enjoy it! The war is over. It can't take you from me again. This, this was happiness, as he danced with her, well he more sort of swayed, and kissed her again. It was only a few several cords, his legs buckled, giving way from under him, like they were not there at all.

"Matthew!"

He tried to get back up, but his legs seemed to refuse. Like he couldn't feel them. No, no, no. This can't happen. This can't be happening now. He tried to will his legs to move.

"Stay there. I'll go get help."

Robert ran down the hallways, banging on the doors, "Everyone, girls, you better come quick."

"What is is?" Edith asked frightened, has something happened to Granny?"

They all rushed into the great hall.

"Is it true, what Mary said?" Robert asked. It was likely he didn't get a chance to hear the whole story from Mary.

He tried to stand up, but his legs still couldn't seem to support him. Robert grabbed his arm, indicating him to stop. "Steady on, dear chap, just lean into me."

Robert and Sybil helped him back in his chair. "You need to take it easy, Cousin Matthew." Sybil said, her hand resting on his shoulder, "You'll tire yourself out..."

"Already have I'm afraid." Matthew was almost breathless.

"we'll send for Doctor Clarkson." Sybil continued.

"She's right." Robert announced. "Edith, go with Branson to get Clarkson, and ring cousin Isobel as well. I don't care what they're doing, tell them to come now." Robert bend down beside Matthew. "My dear cap, I cannot begin to tell you how much this means to me."

"Well, it's pretty good news for me too."

"It is a miracle, no matter how small."

"Nothing to do with a miracle I'm afraid, but my own mistake. Every indication led me to believe the spine was transected which would have been incurable."

"But when sir John Coates came to see you, he agreed with you." Robert stated.

"Actually he didn't. He thought it was a case of spinal shock, a bruise to the spine. Which he was also partially correct. It was severe enough to impede the leg mechanism."

"Which would heal." Mary said, hopefully. Dr. Clarkson nodded. "Why didn't you tell us?"

"There was no way of being certain without an ex-ray, with the war now over it was possible. He does have a fracture to his spine, but not a complete one as I had feared. It turns out he has an incomplete one."

"What is the difference?" Edith asked.

"The connection to the brain and spinal cord are not completely cut off. Which means over time the patient can regain some feeling and sensation in the legs, along with some minor movement. And he has."

"Does this mean he'll eventually be able to walk?" Robert asked.

"It hard to say at this point."

"But he was standing. We were dancing." Mary protested.

"I believe a rush of adrenaline aided him in standing, what you might have mistaken as dancing, he was holding on to you for support." Mary didn't believe him, "It overwhelmed his system, trying to force himself to stand when his legs couldn't support themselves, especially when the muscles are weak."

"But he will still recover?" Robert's voice had an urgency to it.

"I still don't want to get anyone's hopes up. He still might not be able to regain full use of his legs."

"My darling, boy." Isobel came over to him and squeezed his shoulder. "It's still good news more than any."

"We can discuss things further as they, if they do progress."

He was in the day room the next morning, sitting in his chair with a lap rug and a pillow on his lap. They didn't know why he needed them. Though he had heard that it helps distract people from looking at his legs, he felt that there was another reason. She spotted him over in the corner, book resting open on top of the pillow. He wasn't interested in reading it, he was staring out the window.

"Would you like me to read to you?" Without a word from him, she took it from him.

"Clarkson's right." At his sudden willingness to talk, she glanced up from her page. "That it wasn't a miracle. Bates and I have been practicing, using the bed post to stand."

"Oh darling, that is great! When did you...?"

"I was doing my exercises with Bates about a month ago, I got this feeling, this tingling. Well, that wasn't the first time I had felt it. It was the armistice. At first I thought it was nothing."

"Why didn't you tell me? The others, when Clarkson was here?"

"I already told him about that. He said it was a phantom pain, a memory of feeling. But when it happened again, about a week later...it felt more real Mary. I couldn't have possibly imagined it."

"And are you feeling it now?"

He shook his head. "No. Nothing. But I could have sworn it was real."

"Darling..." It just wasn't possible, was it? But if he was starting to have feeling, of course it would make sense that he could stand. But the fact that he wasn't feeling it now, had he imagined it?

She didn't believe him. He had to convince her that it had been real, at least to him. "I knew I couldn't have imagined it. Didn't want to believe it."

"You could have said."

"I didn't say anything because I didn't want to get anyone's hopes up. And I didn't want Clarkson to dash any chance of them or talk down to me that my condition won't change. And I was right."

"He was more wrong than right. We can go see another doctor, get a specialists opinion."

"I don't see the point. He'll tell us no different. I still have no feeling in my legs."

She made a frown. He wasn't making any sense. "I thought..."

"I thought that too. That they were connected. We'll wait on what Clarkson has to say. After that, no more doctors." No more poking and prodding. "Standing is all I can do at the moment. I might not be able to do more than that. We just might have to accept it."

But she hadn't wanted to. She wanted to know that this could mean a chance for them. Not wanting to wait on Doctor Clarkson, Mary decided to find a new doctor for Matthew. Dr. Jacobson. He had worked on such cases in the war and agreed to take on Matthew.

They were given the news that would change the course of their lives. The spinal cord indeed had an incomplete transection. The swelling had temporarily hindered the function of his legs. And it took eighteen months for a person with such an injury to regain sensation and or little to no feeling in their legs. Matthew had gained little sensation but no feeling. Mary was worried that it meant he still couldn't have children when she asked the doctor (he wanted Mary to leave the room so that he could discuss it with Matthew but Matthew wanted her there) and he told them there was a possibility that he could have children but that it was rare. Still there was a chance, a slim one but it was a chance.

That evening at dinner they decided to share the news and announce that their engagement was to continue.

"I…I want to tell you all something." Matthew had found the courage to speak up, as he gave a brief glance at Mary. "As you know, during this, well I think, was this horrible time, Mary had proved to be the most marvelous person."

"Here. Here." Several of the dinner party agreed. Including Robert of course, and especially, Sybil. As she sat up straight, listening, trying to hide the smile that was forming. For she knew what was coming. And it was about time. She could have never been happier for them.

"Now, I've never thought I would marry, for all sorts of reasons, but she wouldn't accept them. And so now I'm very pleased to say that I've been proven right. " He deliberately paused, so that everyone was on the edge of their feet. "Mary and I will get married."

"Oh, my dear fellow!" Robert said with relief, while Cora looked down the table at Mary, eyes filled with worry.

"Matthew and I have been seeing a specialist. He says there's no reason Matthew won't be able to walk again." Mary stated, wearing a smile on her face. Though it felt like her face was about to crack.

Matthew grabbed her hand this time. "And there is a possibility that we can have children."

"That's marvelous!" Sybil was the first one to comment, standing up from her chair. She could no longer contain her excitement.

"Wonderful, wonderful news!" Lord Grantham chimed in.

"When will the wedding be? Have you decided?" Isobel sounded more eager than Lord Grantham did.

"Once I'm able to walk down the aisle. We'll be planning on having the wedding here, at Downtown. To bury forever the memories of what I hope, is the only darkest period of my life."

"Excellent news. Cora, isn't it excellent news?' The Dowager asked her daughter in-law, noticing she had not made a comment.

Cora smiled and took a drink. "Just excellent." She was more experienced of hiding the cracks, though Sybil and Violet where the only ones who noticed them.

Afterwards Matthew had joined the others in the drawing room. He made a move to stand, Mary tried to make her way over to him, but he put his hand up. He pulled himself up using the fireplace mantle. He wanted to show off. He stood up, though he was feeling weak from the effort, his legs a little shaky before they stabilized. Still he didn't quite trust himself. He'd have to stay leaning on the fireplace for support.

Everyone clapped at this remarkable feat. A loud bang suddenly broke through the air.

Matthew instinctively ducked his head.

"What on earth was that?" Robert asked.

"I think someone's starting their hunting season early." Mary smiled.

"Matthew?" Isobel had her attention on her son. He was gripping the mantle tightly, his head down, his legs shaking. She made her way over to him, just as she had, his whole body began to shake. Her body, just in time, concealing his. She had to get him out of here before anyone else realized what was going on. Turning her head slightly, her eyes caught Mary, who noticed something amiss, her expression deep with worry and concern. She had noticed as soon as his mother had made her way over to him, but she didn't make anything else of it.

"Matthew, are you alright?" Isobel asked.

"Just stood up too soon, is all." He sunk back into his chair, his legs barley supporting him. He seemed to collapse into it. "I'm fine."

"You don't look fine." Isobel leaned over and put her hand to his forehead, a distraction, to shield him. "You feel a little warm."

"I said I'm fine." He complained. His face no longer showed any sign of distress, but his body did. Still she didn't want to take any chances.

"I think we'll be heading home." She said to Robert, "could you have the car pulled round? I'm so sorry to have to cut the evening short."

"Certainly. No need to apologize." Robert said, understanding. He couldn't have noticed what had happened but perhaps he did notice how worn out Matthew looked. Isobel thought. "He's been pushing himself far too soon. He needs his rest." His statement confirmed that he thought it was his effort from standing, that was partially the case.

Isobel wheeled him out into the foyer. Matthew still tried to protest even as they waited for the car.

"I ruined the whole evening." He grumbled.

"Nonsense. You're not feeling well." His face was sullen. He looked a bit confused, exhausted. Had he been aware of what just happened?

As the car pulled up, he was silent. He was sulking, Isobel could tell.

"Can you lay me down in the back, Molesley? Matthew asked. He managed to scoot his body down to the far window, while the valet moved his legs onto the seat and then rested them on his lap as he got in.

The ride back to Crawley house was silent.

Isobel set up the couch for him with clean sheets and new pillow cases. Molesley helped getting him onto the sofa.

"I hope that doesn't turn into a fever." Isobel said worried. "There's a nasty flu going around." He said nothing, so she continued to adjust the pillows and blankets, making sure they weren't tight.

She waited till Molesley left, but not before saying that he'd pop in, in the morning, "Does Mary know or do you plan on shielding her from this?"

"What do you mean?"

"You can't hide them from me. The nightmares. What makes you think you can hide them for her? How long have they been happening during the day?"

"Mother..."

"You need to tell someone."

"Why, so they can lock me up?"

"No one is going to lock you up. We'll find a way. You can tell me." Did he still feel like he was over there and that all of this wasn't real when it happened?

"You'll think I'm insane."

"Of course I won't."

"She knows that I have...had nightmares. She doesn't know that I still have them. But I will tell her. I love her. I think she can handle it. I'll talk to her about it."

"Good. Or I will."

She did not know if he had meant it. He couldn't hide things from Mary, keep it bottled up. That could affect a marriage in the future, stunt its growth. There were more factors than that to consider. She was still concerned about his health, the depression that might creep in at any time. He looked perfectly fine, other than a little pale from being shaken up.

He would tell her about the still recurring nightmares at least. If he could manage his stress he wouldn't have as many of them, he reasoned. This was new territory in the medical field. He couldn't trust any doctor. They would jump at the chance of putting him away. He had heard horror stories about what they do to people like him in those places. But he wasn't like them. He still had his mind.

"I don't know if I have the strength to go through it all alone. What I do know is that I'm stronger with her. I need her right now. Anyway she'll have me."

Doctor Clarkson came in the early morning and gave him a clean bill of health. His mother hadn't told him about the nightmares or the incident last night, or he would have brought it up. Matthew eyed his mother curiously but she was avoiding his gaze. After the doctor left, he announced he was going to Downton.

He had Molesley help him get cleaned up and dressed before heading over to the Abbey.

"Mr. Crawley is here, My Lady." Carson announced, as Matthew wheeled round the corner into the great hall.

"Papa is out." Mary told him.

"It's you I came to see actually."

Mary was surprised but did not question it. It was a good excuse as any to see him. She was worried about how quickly he and Isobel had left last night. How pale and ashen his face had looked. But judging by his complexion now, he didn't seem to be ill.

They went into the library.

"I'm sorry for earlier. I was feeling a bit under the weather."

"No need to apologize for something you can't control."

He was confused about what it was that she was talking about.

"You're looking better." She stated.

"I feel it." He said. "Now that I've come to see you. There's something I need to discuss with you."

She waited for him to continue. He was struggling. Struggling to find the right words? Or some unseen battle in his mind. The gun fire from last night had upset him, startled him. That's all that was. It made him feel sick but he's better now. She reasoned.

"I still have nightmares about it. The war. I wanted you to know. So, you know what you're getting into."

"We can find a way through it." She said. He hadn't been expecting how accepting of it she was. "It's still all very recent."

"They don't seem to be as bad." He admitted. But he didn't say that he believed that she was the reason. "Just when I feel stressed or overwhelmed, they become worse."

"We'll find a way to manage."

He simply just nodded. "I made a trip to the office in the village beforehand. I'm feeling a bit tired. I could really go for a nap."

"You can sleep in here. I won't let anyone disturb you."

"I wouldn't want to be intrusive."

"Darling, you won't be. You're tired. You need your sleep." She read the worry on his face, a look that said, what if someone sees? "I won't let anyone in. They'd have to go through me."

"I'd love to see that." He said with a smile. She helped him onto the couch.

That was when she offered to watch him sleep.

The nightmare hadn't been one of the worst. She had yet to see the worst.

The family attended the traditional Christmas Eve service at the church, the choir singing Silent Night. It had been very moving to Matthew, and had touched him in a way Mary never seen. She had turned to him in concern, seeing the tears well up in his eyes. She asked if he was alright.

"Very much!" And told her of the soldiers during Christmas of 1914 and that they sang this song for a night of truce. "You should have seen it Mary. Although, they went straight back to fighting the next morning. No wonder it drove some blokes mad. But at the same time there was so much to hope for." He locked eyes with her, both of their eyes sparkling with so much love for one another. "I wonder if our Christmas's will ever be the same."

"They will be. One day." She added, not wanting to jinx it.

"Maybe now, we can have a little bit of peace." He turned forward again, eyes closed, listening to the choir as they switched to O'Holy Night and then Hark the Herald Angels Sing.

At las, their Christmas's wouldn't be much of a joyous celebration. Shortly after Christmas, Cora succumbed to the Spanish flu.

April 1919

The ground had thawed enough to move forward with Cora's funeral. After Cora's coffin was lowered into the ground, the preacher said a few words, and family and friends said a few words, sprinkling dirt and setting flowers on her grave.

Mary was surprised that it was Matthew and not her father that was the last one behind, still sitting in his chair by her mother's grave.

"When she asked me to see her, we had a conversation about you. She tried to convince me not to marry you. That I had to let you go. I had to think of your future. I refused."

"You did that for me? Even I didn't have the courage to stand up to her."

"I think you could have. You were worth it."

They decided to make a visit to Patrick's grave. Barley a year after the war, bodies were being found and brought home. Patrick's was one of them; finally sent home to them. They had been one of the fortunate ones.

"Do you still think about him?" She asked.

"I would sometimes dream about him. Less often now." He saw a glimmer in her eyes. "Just because they're less frequent doesn't mean they'll completely go away. I couldn't hold you to that. I appreciate your resolve, that you refused to give up on me, many times. But I can't put you through that."

"Oh, Matthew."

"Please, don't argue with me. You know I'm right." He trailed off; his voice hitched in his throat. He was trying to be strong. "I'm not fit to be your husband, or anyone else's..." Who could love him like this? He felt a fool to drag her into this in the first place, thinking she could take this on. He was getting better with her by his side, but the stress and the guilt had set him back. He needed time to process it all. "at least right now." But I still need you. "Don't think I'm breaking things off, I'm not. I want to do things properly. I just...need some time."

"I understand. But I want you to know this, that I'll always be here for you."

"It's not just that either. You need some time to grieve. We both do. Maybe in a year..." It would be appropriate and I will be whole again. "We often hadn't seen eye to eye with her but she was your mother. Also it will give me time to focus on building up enough strength. I want to be able to walk you back down the aisle."

"You know that doesn't matter to me. I'd marry you even if you had to use a trolley cart."

He smiled, trying to hold back a laugh, failing miserably. His eyes crinkled around the corners, lines she didn't remembering being there. "I know it doesn't. But if my mobility still proves to be limited, we'll have to re-think about our living situation."

"I have an estate in mind, or was thinking maybe even a flat in London." Somewhere he would be comfortable, that would be easy for him. Easier wasn't always better, she had come to learn. "I really believe that we will be happy."

"As do I. Could you ever really leave this place, though?" Matthew asked with a bit of doubt.

"No. It's the only home I've ever know. I suppose, I wanted to make things easier...on you. What about you?"

"I'd have wanted to live anywhere. I would have liked to travel, see the world."

"The doctor said it could still be possible."

"I've considered it. I mean really travel." Perhaps if we never have children. The thought should dishearten him but it doesn't. The fact that they now had a chance, it was worth spending his life with her, made living all the more bearable. Worst came to worst, they could adopt and that child, or any other children, would be loved as their own. He was grateful and relieved that he was able to think positive thoughts without them being overshadowed by the black cloud of hanging over him, the negative ones canceling out the positive ones. It WAS a start of a different life, a new life, a fitting life for this new man that he had become. He'd try to be a better man for her and try not to let her down.

"Not to the places the army sent you." She paused, regretting she'd even mentioned it. She studied his face but he didn't seem to be in any distress. "If you don't want to talk about it, you don't have to. I shouldn't have brought it up."

"No. It's alright." He took a moment before continuing. "Patrick loved to travel, even the places he was being sent that were dangerous. He loved talking to the locals, wherever we went and within twenty-four hours. " A smile formed on his face, he made new friends."

"That sounds about right." Mary returned the smile, only in response to his. But he wasn't looking at her. He was no doubt thinking of fond memories of his friend but she knows possibly that at any moment, they could change into the frightful images of war.

But they didn't.

Maybe she was the medicine that he needed to get better.

They saw the Dowager, making her way up the path.

"But wherever we go, it's over. We've made it. And if you keep telling yourself that, it may help you further to heal." As she said them she didn't know if she believed her own words. Wherever they go it would follow them, wouldn't it?

She looked over to him for a response but he said nothing.

He might be damaged but so was she, albeit in a far different way. She was far from perfect herself. She would have to tell him in the end about Pamuk. If I tell him, he'll want nothing to do with me. She would die if she lost him for ever. Please, tell me what you are thinking.

"Let's take a moment to remember him." He took her hand. "Our father, who are in Heaven, hollow by thy name, my kingdom come, as it is on earth as it is in Heaven."

"Whatever do you mean by over?" The Dowager Countess had finally made her way over, had been far enough to be in ear shot.

""Granny, Matthew and I came to a decision."

"I can see that."

"Granny, it was an adult conversation and isn't any of your business. I'm going to go see Mama."

"Cousin Matthew, ought I have a word." She pushed his wheelchair, even though she could hardly walk herself.

"Cousin, Violet, you don't need to..."

They came to a halt, out of Mary's earshot. "She's still in love with you, you know."

"I don't think so."

"Well, I'm sorry. That just won't do. You need to fight for her."

"Why should I? I thought you didn't like me for throwing her over in the first place."

"That is an entirely different conversation."

"It had to be like this. I can't explain why, at least I'm not going to, certainly not to you."

"Does this have anything to do with Patrick?"

"Maybe."

"Well, you see, that's where you're wrong. If you knew Patrick as well as you say you did, you would know he would want this for you, for the both of you. He wouldn't have wanted the both of you to be miserable. Nobody your age deserves that. And if you are and decide to do nothing about it, then don't. Or has the war not taught you nothing?" Her words echoed his mothers.

"That's your opinion."

"Yes, it is. Unfortunately."

"It's not over, Granny." Mary had appeared back by his side, grinning widely.

"You mean...oh my goodness, scaring an old woman like that. I congratulate the both of you. "

"Well, that's what you get for eavesdropping. You did after all tell me that. You're being contrary Granny. We're only pushing the wedding back until Matthew is ready enough. We agreed he needs to focus on his recovery."

"Whatever that means, know that I will be here and I support you both. I know your mother would have...eventually come round."

"I don't know about that." Mary said skeptically. "Usually she would give me wise words but..." But for this? Would her mother's thoughts still have been the same? Would she tell her not to marry Matthew? If she had to, she would have sacrificed her relationship with her mother, how little of it there was, to be with Matthew, for all she had already sacrificed for him and what he had for her.

Violet took her granddaughter's hands and gave her a confident smile. "I cannot tell you how happy I am. We all need a bit of that. This world deserves some happiness."

He thought long and hard about Violet's words. He was better with Mary. He found a way to live again. She had stuck strong and fast to him, even through the nightmares. Yet she had still to see the worst ones.

It wouldn't be worth it, keeping her away from him. He deserved to be loved, and so did she. This world deserves some happiness. He was going to tell her that when they were informed that Isis was missing.

Robert and the servants had gathered a search party to look for her. Matthew offered to stay closer to the house in case she came wondering back, since his legs were still not up for the task.

"How's the search coming?" He asked as Mary walked over to the stone structure, standing next to him, as he sat in his chair.

"Still nothing yet." She said, sitting down, wrapping her shawl tighter around her.

"They're bound to find her soon. Probably following a scent of a badger." He turned his head toward her. She was still facing away from him, staring straight ahead. She was avoiding his gaze. He couldn't tell what was in her eyes but from her scrunched-up face, he could tell that something was deeply troubling her.

He had to ask her what was wrong. This silence was maddening.

"Oh, Matthew, I cannot go on like this. I've been keeping something from you, for a very long time and I...I want you to know that I've cared about you for far longer than I realized, I think back long before you first purposed to me."

"You were afraid of your feelings for me."

She shook her head. "Not exactly. It was what you would have thought of me, will think of me. I want to believe that things have changed now, that you won't...You see, there's a reason I had reservations when you asked me the first time. Why it took so long for me to say yes. It had nothing to do with you possibly losing the title if Mama's child was a boy."

"Mary, where is this coming from? Why are you telling me this now?"

"I have to tell you now. It wouldn't be right to keep it from you much longer. I admit that I was selfish, that's who I was back then. But during the war, I thought that things would change and that it wouldn't matter but now...I'm not so sure."

"You thought that, because of this reason, that I wouldn't accept you?" As he asked it, it finally made sense. "This reason is why you would not marry me, not because you feared my loss of position." It was a statement not a question, a further revelation. She couldn't have done anything as horrible as he had done, not even close. He would not let it come between them. He was relying on his instincts, his faith. She would stay by his side no matter what.

She had proven that when she had stayed after it was thought he'd be permanently paralyzed and unable to have children. He had thought she had grown as a person since then (back when she apparently had rejected him after she had learned the news that she might have a brother) not that she was harboring some dark secret. No, he doubted that it would ever come close to the atrocities he had to see and commit. By comparison, she would still appear innocent.

She nodded. "Yes, that's exactly what I'm saying. I wanted to marry you but Aunt Rosamund told me not to. I agreed with her. At the expense of my own heart!"

"Why would you listen to her?"

"I was of afraid what you'd think of me. That you wouldn't want me."

"Listen, Mary, back then I probably wouldn't have. But you're right, things have changed. I'm a different man than I was before, as selfish and impulsive as you were."

She gave a jarring laugh, "You? We both know that isn't true." She dabbed at her eyes. "You're just trying to make me feel better about myself."

"Yes, it is true. And no, I'm not. I wanted what I thought I couldn't have. But I'm not him anymore, the war had seen to that." He took a moment of silence as if honoring one of his many departed friends, because that is what it still felt like. The life he had before he came to Downton and arrived here, still felt worlds away, another lifetime belonging to someone else. He wondered if that feeling would ever go away or if it would stay with him always. "Whatever it is you've done, when we're married, my position will protect you." He wasn't talking of his position as future Earl, but his position as a lawyer. "And I don't mean being the heir. There are legal matters on which we can figure out, together."

"Just like that, without knowing what I've done?" He gave a nod. He wheeled over to her, taking her by the hands, looking intently into her eyes, as she stood up.

Why must he do this? Why is he always the better person in this relationship?

"You want to know what I see? When I look at you, I just see you. One day you will tell me, and someday, I will tell you the things that I can't now. But I will still see you. And I hope you will too. When we talk, I know you're talking to me. You're not looking past me. You see me." She saw past his chair to acknowledge the person that he was, while others would see past his chair to ignore him. "You don't giggle or simper or pretend to have opinions that you don't have simply to please me." He thought of all those soldiers home on leave, filling up the hotel's or cafe's with dozen's of women at their heals, or the high society girls he had met. No. No one else would have been better.

"Are you saying that you love me because I insult you?"

He smiled to keep from laughing. "I love you because you're you. Because you're not afraid to say what you mean. Because there's no pretense about you."

"Oh, Matthew. I'm nothing but pretense. I told you that when we met." It seemed like a lifetime ago. She put her hands on his.

"I think," he said softly, that you are the truest person I have ever met."

She closed her eyes against the tears. "You're feeling sorry for me, or yourself. That's all."

"No." That wasn't it at all. It couldn't be further from the truth. Couldn't she see that?

"I won't be your ruin."

"Mary, look at me. There's nothing else to ruin." He motioned to his legs, his eyes crinkling round the corners.

"Don't joke." She could not put up with his cynical humor at the moment, with his trying to make her feel better, and at his own expense.

"But you know it's true. I'm not any better than you, whomever you perceive yourself to be." He looked at her with seriousness now, his voice also laced with his love for her. "You won't be my ruin. Never that, Mary. I would be proud to call you my wife. If you'd have me."

He had it all wrong. It should be her begging him for forgiveness but she was too prideful to ask for it. "I couldn't do that to you. I'm damaged goods." She once more tried to convince him.

"Not to me. What you're trying to do, it won't work." He had rebuffed her so many times. He wasn't about to let her give up. They had just been taking some time.

"It was a beautiful dream, Matthew." She said, and every word hurt, to be killing that dream yet again. "But even if it weren't as it is...it wouldn't work."

She told him about Pamuk, it all rushed out in a flood gate. And how Anna and her mother had helped move his body. She waited for his response. He just stood there with a horrified expression on his face. Just as she had expected him to be. His mouth was agape, about to say something, but then it closed in a hard line.

"Say something. If it's only goodbye."

"Did you love him?"

"You mustn't try..."

"To understand?"

"Of course it wasn't love! He came to my room. Someone told him, one of the servants...I don't know, told him where it was. If anyone had found him with me..."

"He took advantage of you."

"Matthew, no. That's not..."

"Deserves to be shot if he wasn't already dead. It's his crime, not yours. If he forced you..."

"He didn't. I let him." His eyes widened and she was quick to correct him. "It was lust, Matthew. Or need of excitement, or something in him that I...God, I don't know. I can't quite say I enjoyed it. But what difference does it make? I'm Tess of the D'Urbervilles to your Angel Clair. I have fallen. I am impure." He said nothing, "and I must admit that I am made different by it. This changes things between us. So, you see, it's quite impossible."

"You made a mistake. That anyone could make. You'd just lost Patrick, your world in turmoil and your father forces a stranger on you, it was natural to lash out, to cling to something."

"You're not...disgusted with me?" She saw that he was smiling. Why was he smiling? She preferred him to say anything at all.

"Not disgusted, no. Just ...shocked. It'll be an experiment for the both of us. I've never been...lain with a woman." Of course he hadn't. He was so pure. Her golden angel, her golden prince. "We'll find a way. If it gets out..."

"Somebody already put it out there and can use it against me at any time."

"Who? How could they have come across this information?"

"It doesn't matter."

"Every detail matters."

"It was Edith. She sent a letter to the embassy."

His face crumpled. He had risked everything when he had entrusted Patrick's letter to her temporary care. The information he had confided in her, that he had known Patrick, she could have used that against her sister. But she hadn't. She had matured since then and would have not jeopardized their friendship. Edith had been one of the first to be kind to him when he and and his mother moved to Downton.

"If it is ever brought to light, which I doubt, whatever is said against you would be hearsay. It happened a very long time ago."

"What if they take Edith's word for it?"

"Again, that would be hearsay. And name one family that hasn't held a grudge against another member sometime or other."

She couldn't help the warmth spreading across her face. At times she would get angry when he went into lawyer mode, when they had discussed things that had to do with the law. She had taken that for granted. Now she was quite thankful for it. Her eyes were heavy with all the love she felt for him, as she gazed down into his eyes. Could she really put him through all that? Either way, they both ended up hurt.

"If it does, how could I ever marry you? I'd drag you down with me. How could I live with that, knowing that I have destroyed you too? No man would want to have me as much as a woman would want you as I do."

"You'll just have to face it."

"What? Brave the storm?"

"You're strong. A storm braver if I ever saw one."

"I wonder. Sybil is the strong one. She doesn't care what people think but I'm afraid I do. I'm afraid what Papa will think."

"We'll tell him. Together. You won't have to be alone." He held his outstretched hand to her. She stared at it as if it were the most precious thing in the world. They walked side by side. "You're wrong about one thing though."

"And what is that, pray tell?"

"I would never...I could never despise you."

May 1919

It was a nice day with a slight breeze and warmth. The village was holding a fair with music, a live band, for the soldiers in the village. The music was faster and up beat. He would have a hard time dancing to. He'd fall over. Mary protested it didn't seem fair, that he should miss out, she could suggest they play something slow, but he urged her that it would be alright.

He found a bench and parked his chair next to it, watching the people in the distance.

"Excuse me, is there anyone sitting here?" A voice brought him back to the present and he opened his eyes, squinting against the sunshine, to see a woman clad in mourning clothes, her face shrouded in a black veil. She wasn't the first and wouldn't be the last. Soldiers were still being found, the missing declared dead. There could be more widows for some time to come. Matthew had a hard time looking at them at times, their melancholy always entered his soul, making him depressed, reminding him of his own mortality. His self doubt hovering to the surface.

The woman moved out of the glare of the sun allowing him a better look at her. She appears to be in her twenties, early thirties, her face pale, and hazel eyes that looked at him with confidence.

"No. Not at all."

She sat down on the bench next to his wheelchair. "I'm sorry I disturbed you. You looked so peaceful with your eyes closed." She was talking to him as if he were a normal person, giving him a fleeting smile, before she was drawn to the children, listening to the live music. "The band, they play very well."

"They're a local group. They play here from time to time." He said. He turned his head so fast, he caught that she was looking at him. Embarrassed he averted his gaze but not before he saw her smile at him again.

She lifted her veil. The freckles didn't distract from her pretty face. He would say she was attractive if his heart didn't belong to Mary.

"Kate Graham."

"Captain Crawley. I mean Matthew. Matthew Crawley." He corrected himself.

They continued a polite and a bit more relaxed conversation about a few minutes, about the music and floral displays but not about the war.

"I've spent rather a lot of time in doors recently. I mean shut in, in my Uncle's parlor, receiving visitors. It's lovely to be out here for a change, in the fresh air, to feel the sun on your face." She said, closing her eyes, breathing it in as she rubbed her arms as if to rub in the warmth of the sunshine. "Well, I must continue on my way, enjoy this lovely day."

"Would you mind if I accompanied you, Mrs. Graham?" He would like the company.

"Yes, I'd like that." She lowered her veil again and stood up from the bench. He wheeled beside her along the pathway, they both commented on the children and their nannies scolding them while the mothers, well dressed, sat on the benches, physically and emotionally detached from them. "I could never be like that." She said.

He tried to decipher her character, what her life was like. Childless. He can tell by the attentive way she observes the them. He knows that longing.

"My husband was killed at Mons. That was last year. I'm here for my cousin. He was gassed there."

She had had her time to grieve. She was looking for a potential replacement. Even if Mary hadn't still wanted him, and this woman did, would she still want him in the end? He couldn't be that. He had to shut this down, that he was spoken for. "I injured my back in France. The Battle of Arras." The battle had lasted from 9th April, 1917 to 17th of May, 1917. He had been injured in March and was still suffering it's effects.

She didn't react with shock or pity. She had probably been a nurse in the war or perhaps too numb to.

"It's been a really difficult recovery. I would have given up if it weren't for my fiancé."

"She's very lucky." She meant it but he also detected a hint of disappointment. "Well, thank you for your company Captain but I must be heading home and face the sorrow once more."

He wanted to reach out to her, tell her that it would pass, even if it were a lie. "Do you wish me to accompany you further?"

"No. Thank you, all the same Captain. My Uncle lives just there." She pointed to a row of houses. "It was lovely meeting you."

In other words, they would not see each other again. A chance meeting of strangers.

At breakfast the next morning, the paper was brought up with his meal. The paper was a few days old, but it didn't matter. It'd preoccupy his time. He turned to the advertisement section and came across one that read,

Nurse in need of husband

Soldier must be blind or missing limbs in need of care.

Contact Mrs Graham

227 Broad Street

York

It couldn't be a coincidence. He couldn't be someone's replacement. But he was trying to be, in a different way. The Matthew Crawley that was, would never be again.

November 1919

It was the anniversary of the armistice. Robert, once again had them stand in the foyer as the clock chimed eleven. This time Matthew was able to stand with crutches and leg braces. He received a letter from the King himself, inviting him and his family to Buckingham palace, to receive an award for his services in the war, along with others. William Mason was one of them.

Daisy wanted to go but Mrs. Patmore needed her in the kitchens. Matthew volunteered to accept William's award on his behalf.

"Thank you so, kindly Mr. Matthew." She had replied. "I promised Mr. Mason I would go..."

"Don't worry about it. I'll see to it that he's looked after."

She kindly thanked him again.

The motor car was waiting for them outside.

It was an eventful day for Daniel, serving as Mr. Matthew's valet. It would be the first time doing so alone. The King had held a medal ceremony at Buckingham palace! The stories he would have to tell Tally and Auntie! But he was greeted by a somber mood, as a small crowd of people were dressed in black, mother's, sisters, and wives, that would be receiving the awards posthumously.

As they approached the palace, three red carpeted stairs loomed before them.

"Oh, dear." Matthew muttered.

But three footmen were there to help him out, to carry him up the short steps to the reception hall. There was another set of stairs, longer and daunting. But the palace had been prepared. Matthew wasn't expecting the awkwardness, that was clear, but there was nothing else to be done about it.

There were soldiers in their uniforms, some on crutches, or using canes, a few of them in wheelchairs like Mr. Matthew, who seemed to relax a little upon seeing them. Lady Mary said she would take over from here.

"Do I pass muster?" He asked his fiancé.

"Quite handsomely."

Afterwords, the veterans and their families attended a memorial service in the village, the graves now marked by wooden crosses. He observed him and Lady Mary from across the lawn of the graveyard. He saw Lady Mary muttering something to Mr. Crawley. He could tell even from here, that he was far off somewhere. She was tucking a grey blanket eagerly at his sides.

Afterwards Mr. Crawley and Lord Grantham retired to the drawing room, Daniel accompanied them, also filling in for Carson.

Lord Grantham started to talk about the war treaties that were in place. "With the new treaties in place Germany, I don't think they'll abide by it. I think it won't be too long before Europe goes to war again." Lord Grantham was pouring himself a drink.

Lady Grantham has stopped by the room to receive something and had overheard her husband. "Oh, Robert, now don't go fearmongering." She found what she was looking before, behind the sofa pillows, an aqua-green fan and left the room swiftly as she had come.

"What do you think...?" He started to ask Mr. Matthew. When he turned, he noticed the blank stare on his face.

Daniel had noticed it first. In his position he was utterly helpless.

"Matthew." Robert tried to get his attention. "At ease, soldier." He tapped him lightly on the shoulder. He was only teasing but Daniel knew that was the wrong thing to say.

"Lord Grantham, you really shouldn't have..."

Lord Grantham tried to get his attention again, but he remained unresponsive. The Earl's voice filled with desperation and panic.

That wouldn't help to bring him back. Daniel knew from firsthand that you should remain calm in these situations.

Then suddenly, "No. I can't...I can't go back..."

"You're not going to go back." Robert reached out to him again, but he jerked his hand away from Robert, his whole body began to tremble.

"I saw them. The soldiers, they want me to go back."

His mind is stuck in a loop, Daniel though dreadfully, mixed up with the events he saw today, the veterans and soldiers in their uniforms earlier at the service.

"No. No one is going to make you. I'm not going to let them. You have nothing to worry about." Robert's now calming words had no effect. He didn't know how to help his cousin. Getting Isobel or Clarkson was out of the question. He didn't want Isobel to worry, or Clarkson suggest he be sent away. His eyes went to the only other person in the room. "How do we help him?"

They weren't specially directed at Daniel. But with that small plea, Daniel decided that he could no longer just stand by. "I'll go get Auntie." He dashed out of the room. He came back with her, at a normal pace, not to draw in unwanted prying eyes.

"We need to get him onto the floor, so he doesn't fall out of his chair." O'Brien immediately took action. Giving out commands, as she loves to do, Daniel thought cheerfully. But she wasn't loving any minute of this. "Put a pillow under his head."

Daniel took him under the arms and Lord Grantham took his legs. Daniel took a pillow from the sofa and put it under his head as Lord Grantham looked at O'Brien as if to question what to do next.

"What about blankets?" He asked, "Daniel..."

"No." O'Brien said sharply. "No blankets, you don't want him to feel restrained while he's not lashing out. All we can do is wait until it passes."

And wait was what they did.

"What...what happened?" Matthew was starting to come around.

"Fainted. Gave us all a bit of a freight." Lord Grantham was saying, smiling, not letting the distress show in his voice.

Daniel was not paying much attention. He could not take his eyes off of Mr. Crawley. He mechanically helped Lord Grantham get him back in his chair. He could do that on his own now, but he was having difficulty. When they got him back into it, he was silent, staring far off.

"O'Brien, how did you know how to do that?" Lord Grantham asked in astonishment.

"My brother. He was never the same. They sent him back, thought it would get his mind right. He was killed..." She was not trying to show any emotion in the Lordships presence. Daniel had never seen her as much as bat an eyelash while he was here, but he knew now, she was trying to keep all the memories from flooding back in. Her voice had almost cracked but she stood fast and firm, cold as stone.

Lord Grantham thanked her and Daniel.

"Not a word to anyone about this." He spoke. "Not even to Lady Mary." O'Brien leaves but Daniel remains at the Lordships request. He asks if Daniel could take Mr. Crawley to his room.